


Coffee & Paint (Working Title)

by mugglecastiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:37:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugglecastiel/pseuds/mugglecastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after the war ended, Harry Potter's life is pretty exciting. A new body in his bed each night, shifts at his own cafe before finding said new body, working his friends into his busy schedule... The last thing he needs is Draco Malfoy showing up one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, DRACO MALFOY, NOR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS TAKEN FROM THE HARRY POTTER SERIES WHO MAY OCCUR IN THIS STORY. THIS PLOT AND INTERPRETATION IS SOLELY FOR FAN PURPOSES ONLY. THANK YOU.

     He was running late again. How was it that a good shag always made him late to work? 

     Harry Potter did the fly of his jeans as he rushed into the bathroom for one last look at his hair, just to make sure it didn’t look  _ too _ bad. He could deal with bad. He’d dealt with bad his entire life, but if it was constantly falling from the tie holding it up, what was the point? 

     Satisfied by the outcome of the look, he set to hurriedly brushing his teeth. The bite of the cinnamon toothpaste he preferred was familiar and fought away the sleep and salt taste of his night, finally. 

     Not that it wasn’t a good night, of course. He just preferred not to reminisce about the nights. 

     He rinsed the toothbrush and splashed his face with warm water. “Wake up, Potter. You’ve got work,” he mumbled into the hand towel, patting his face dry. A loose strand of waving hair fell in front of his face, but he was running too late to care to put it back in place. 

     In the bedroom, on his way to snatch up his wand, he caught a glimpse of the bed and felt his lips twitch up involuntarily. Best to leave a note for poor Mr. Celtic-Knot-On-His-Back-In-White-Ink. He’d be waking up alone. 

     Harry summoned a piece of parchment and a pen, leaning down over the crowded nightstand to scrawl a brief note to the fairly handsome man he’d picked up last night and brought home. 

_      Had to run to work. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Thanks for the good night. Please be out by 10.  _

_       -H _

     He looked over the note once, then set it on the bed where he’d fallen asleep the night before. Picking his way over the clothes strewn across the floor, he made his way to the door to the flat and rushed downstairs without looking back. 

     The shop was busy today. It was busy every day, but especially today. Harry rushed from table to table, laughing and taking orders, sending them flying back to the bar to be made and sent to the customer. 

     His feet started to drag around six, when he’d been working for just as many hours, right when dinner was starting. The customers dwindled, nursing sandwiches and coffee and sodas and cakes, both inside and outside. Harry wandered around, checking on them to see if everything was to their liking, laughed at the comments on how  _ he  _ was serving  _ them _ , shouldn’t it be the other way around, Mr. Potter? Mr. I-Vanquished-The-Dark-Lord? Really, when they said that he wanted to tell them to fuck off, but he didn’t. That wouldn’t be good behavior. He’d have to fire himself. 

      He finally leaned back against the counter when they hit a lull, no customers coming in or going out, and tipped his head back. “I love it here, but it’s so busy,” his mirror said, leaning back against the counter herself. Sheila smiled over at him, her hand patting his, blue tipped hair brushing his shoulder as she shook her head. “You should take a break.” 

     “Only three hours ‘til closing.” Harry shrugged. “No point in it. I’d just have to wind down again later.” 

     The only response that got was a noncommittal grunt. He heard a few telltale signs behind him, and didn’t jump when something warm and hard pressed against his hand. “Drink. Just the way you like it.” 

     “Caffeinated,” he sighed whimsically, picking the mug up by the handle. “Sugary. You’re too good to me.”

     “Only the best for the best,” she replied, and Harry could just hear the smirk in her voice. “Table ten is done.” 

     Harry groaned and straightened up again, taking one last drink of coffee before setting it down again. He wandered his way over to the table, asking the others if they were done, wanting dessert, coffee, anything, and then cleared up the mess with a wave of his wand that sent the dishes to the kitchen. A quick Scourgify on the table cleared up any extra mess, and on his way back to the counter he checked with the rest of the customers. 

     “Four wants strawberry cake to share. Six would like more coffee, another tea. Thirteen, two treacle tarts.” He tossed the coins on the counter and took another sip of coffee. Sheila scooped them up and dropped them into the box down under the counter, where they sorted themselves into the proper compartments. “I’m going to check the tables outside.” 

     “Got it.” 

     Once outside, a small breeze blew against Harry’s skin. It felt much better than it did inside the warm shop. The sun was just starting to set, too, and Harry checked on the three couples seated outside with speed. He knew what it was like to have a date interrupted by a server and the romantic air brought down to simple awkwardness. He knew what it was like on both sides, and it wasn’t fun for either party. 

     “I wasn’t saying that!” exploded one girl who looked to be Hogwarts age. “I just wanted to know what you meant by-” 

     “By asking me if I was dating my cousin?” the boy snapped back. Harry winced at his tone and words. 

     “I asked who she was! Not if you were dating her!” Tears were welling in the girl’s eyes. “Why are you getting so bloody defensive?”

_      Maybe now is a good time to intervene, _ Harry mused, making his way toward them.  _ Saviour of the World made Saviour of Relationships.  _

     “Is everything okay?” he asked as he approached, his eyes darting briefly to the other couples, who were watching with fascination, their flirting at a standstill. 

     The girl’s cheeks turned red enough to match her boyfriend’s hair. Faintly, Harry thought about Ron and Hermione, wondering if they’d ever had an experience like this. Probably not. “Everything’s fine,” she mumbled, sitting down again. Her boyfriend just glared up at Harry like he was an idiot for interrupting for the sake of their relationship. 

     Then the boy did something Harry hadn’t expected to ever witness. “Marianne, I want to break up.” 

     The entire night lost its glamour. It became breathless. Even the breeze stopped blowing, as though it sensed the tension and couldn’t cut its way through. The couples all around froze, as did Marianne, as did Harry. 

     A gasp came from one of the tables behind the trio and broke the stillness. Tears welled up in the girl’s- Marianne’s- eyes again as she stared at her now ex-boyfriend as he stood up, smiled minutely at Harry, and stalked off down the street. 

     What the hell had he just witnessed? Had he just witnessed a break up? 

     Marianne turned to stare at Harry. She stared blankly for a moment, then scowled at him as her tears spilled over. “Look at what you’ve done!” she shouted, and Harry stepped back once, opening his mouth to attempt to calm her down. “You’ve ruined everything!”

     “Marianne,” he said diplomatically, sitting down across from her. He lifted a silencing charm around them, and could tell she felt it by the way she bristled. “I’m really very sorry.” 

     She clenched her jaw, pointedly not looking at him. Her eyes stuck to the table. 

     “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I meant to come over and try to help you fix things, if I could.”

     “Well, you couldn’t, and you ruined everything.” 

     “Can I give you some advice?” he asked softly, reaching a hand out toward her across the table. He waited until she hesitantly lifted her hand to his, and closed his fingers around hers and squeezed them gently. “Break ups suck,” he whispered, leaning across the table. “They are never easy, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out before. They never get easier. You’re not the one at fault here, though. That guy just lost a very beautiful woman, and, if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll come running back, begging for your hand again.” He smiled, seeing her petulant expression as she looked up at him finally. 

     “You think?” 

     “I do think. But here’s the advice: Don’t take him back. It only ruins it. You’re strong on your own, and you’re able to get through this. You don’t need him. He’ll hold you back from other opportunities. He’s lost you once, hurt you once, maybe more than that, and you don’t need to take him back. You may feel obligated to.” He pulled in a shaking breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Do not let him treat you terribly any longer. Excuse my language, but fuck him. He’s lost out already on his one chance.” 

     Marianne tucked a piece of pale hair behind her ear. She stared at Harry for a few moments longer, her fingers twisting through her hair as she thought. 

     Harry squeezed her hand one more time, and then pulled away from her and stood up. “I’m going to get you a slice of our most chocolatey cake, free of charge.” 

     He disappeared inside, leaving her with the charm up, chewing his lip as he walked. Sheila looked up at him as he entered again. “What-” 

     “Whatever has the most chocolate,” he stated, walking by the counter. “Get it ready and set it out on the counter. I’ll pick it up in a minute. I’m taking a short break.” 

      He knew she was staring after him incredulously, but he could feel the slight flutter of panic beating against his ribs. He couldn’t work until he’d taken care of it. 

     Apparating home was hard. He tripped over his feet as he landed just outside his flat. He rushed upstairs, stuck his key in the lock and fumbled with getting the door open for a few seconds. He stepped inside. He took a deep breath. 

     When he let it out, someone touched his side. He turned on them immediately, grabbing the wrist next to his side and twisting to stand behind them, their forearm pulled up between their shoulder blades. The warm dark skin of the arm pulled Harry from his stupor, making him bottle everything up again. His face fell into an easy smile that was anything but easy. 

     “Boy, you’ve got some great reflexes,” Malachi mused, looking over his shoulder at Harry. “That kind of hurts, though.” 

     "Right,” he said softly, his grip on Malachi’s arm loosening. “Sorry. I don’t much care for being surprised. I thought you were gone.” 

     “Not yet. I just woke up a bit ago. Our… activities… when you woke me up a few hours ago were rather tiring.” A smirk spread across Malachi’s lips, and Harry could only see the unspeakable things those lips had done to Harry’s body just hours ago. He swallowed thickly. “I only made coffee and just finished before you arrived. I was about to leave… Unless…” 

     Though he wanted to, Harry knew he shouldn’t. But Merlin, did he want to… 

     “Stick around,” he whispered. “I’ve only a few more hours of work, then I’ll be back up here by 10. You can help yourself to the TV, to any books sitting around…” 

     “Will do.” 

     Harry graced Malachi with a smile and wink, then turned to leave again. He’d have to go somewhere else for a bit of alone time. “Be careful. The TV is a bit temperamental.”

     Only a few minutes later, Harry was setting a piece of cake down in front of Marianne, smiling kindly. “One piece of Break Up Mender for one Marianne. I’ll check up on you later. Anything else I can get you? Free of charge.” 

     “Can… Can I get a refill?” 

     “Sure. What were you drinking?”

     “Jasmine tea,” she mumbled. 

     Less than a minute later, Harry was back with a warm cup of tea in his hand. He set it down in front of Marianne, who was poking the tines of the fork into the icing of the cake slowly, staring down at it as though it were magnificent and incomprehensible. When he turned to walk away again silently, her fingers brushed his and he looked down to her. 

     She looked up at him for a moment, eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes, tears streaking down her cheeks. Then she whispered, voice hoarse. 

     “Thank you.” 

                                   ---

     The next morning, Harry woke up early to an empty bed. He wasn’t surprised Malachi had left. They’d been together over 24 hours. For a fling, that was a long time. 

     He groaned and wiped his hands over his sleep sticky eyes, trying to pull the sunlight from them. The sheets were tangled around his legs and made it hard to get up at first. He had to kick his way out of them and wince slightly at working his sore muscles. First thing his hands went for were his glasses once he stood, and they found them immediately. He pushed them on, blinked as the world came into focus, and trekked to the shower. He turned the water to the hottest setting, and stepped under the stream as it heated up, glasses still on. The water ran in rivulets down the lenses, down his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Soon, it was hot enough to burn, and Harry reached out blindly to turn the setting down and grab shampoo in the same move. 

     Ten minutes later, he was drying off with a towel, walking back to the bedroom with it draped over his head. A yawn slipped out as he pulled underwear, socks, and jeans from the top drawer of his dresser, a t-shirt from the pile of clean clothing on the floor. He slipped into them easily, ran his fingers through his damp hair. 

     After dressing, he took a look at the bed. A frown split his morning sleepiness in half. Something was off. What was it? 

     It clicked almost two minutes later, when Harry was making his coffee. 

     There hadn’t been a body in the bed. It was the first time he’d woken alone in months, maybe years. 

     And there was a paper on the bed still. 

     He finished the routine, hit the button on the maker, and rushed back to the bedroom, wondering what the paper was. His fingers crumpled it on the first try to pick it up, his knuckles slamming against it in his haste. He snorted at himself, at his excitement, and slid his fingers under it to pick it up. 

_      Had to run to work. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Thanks for the good night. Please be out by 10.  _

_        -H _

     And below it, a number. 

     No, not just a number. Even better.

_       A phone number. _

      “Malachi,” he mumbled, smiling a smidge. “Idiot.” 

     The paper with the number on it went into the second drawer of his dresser. It was the drawer he kept his one night stand numbers in, along with anything left behind, just in case he needed to get in contact with one of them or return something of theirs. They never came back for it, though, or he never called. It was always one of those things, and Harry couldn’t say he minded one bit. He hadn’t been much for relationships since- 

     The flutter in his ribs was back. He grunted, turning and waving his hand to make the drawer slam itself shut as he left the room. It wasn’t time for this. He hadn’t even had his coffee yet. 


	2. Encounter

_      Voldemort’s voice sang in his head. Pansy Parkinson yelled for someone to grab him. The heavy scent of smoke filled the air. Screaming. Shouting. Helena Ravenclaw’s ghost stood before him, detailing the story of the diadem. The fire licked at his feet, at the end of his broom. Draco Malfoy’s hands tightened around his- _

     Harry woke with a start, blinking and clearing his throat. Bad idea. He gagged, trying to push himself over the side of the bed as best he could. 

_      Bile never tastes better, _ he decided, frowning at the mess on the floor. His fingers grasped blindly for his wand, somewhere on the nightstand, and encountered his glasses instead. He tossed them onto the bed behind him, and reached a little further to tug open the drawer of the metal nightstand. His fingers brushed the wood of it and he sighed, tugging it out and waving it to clean up his mess. He lay back down, closing his eyes for a moment as he groped for his glasses again.

     War terrors hit him every night he slept alone. They were always just bits and pieces of the war, the search for the horcruxes, the deaths… The worst was always the final battle, and he always woke with the stench of smoke and magic in his nose, bile in his gullet, aches in his limbs. Terror in his mind. 

     But he had things to do. He wasn’t the only victim of this war, and he knew it. He’d lost enough, too much, and he refused to let it hold him down. He was Harry fucking Potter, after all, and if he could get out of bed, so could the rest of them. 

     Once he stepped into the shower, the shaking took control of his body and helpless sobs broke through his lips. Warm water washed away the tears on his cheeks, the grime on his body, the bile from his mouth. But that was it. The warm water couldn’t reach deep enough to wash away the memories and the fears and the horror of it all, and Harry knew that and it hurt. His chest hurt. The one thing that could soothe those internal horrors was gone, and it was his fault.  _ My fault my fault my fault my fault my fau- _

     He brushed his teeth. He dressed gradually. He made himself coffee. He cleaned up the house. He flipped through  _ Quidditch Through the Ages _ and  _ A Million Little Pieces _ without actually reading them. His vision blurred. 

_      -waist. The wall exploded. Rubble, red hair, blood, a shriek. Spiders. His friends against Death Eaters, bleeding and determined. Stunning a Death eater, saving Draco Malfoy a second time. Greyback attempting to kill Lavender- _

     For the second time that day, he vomited on the floor. 

     Choking on the air he desperately needed, he closed his eyes and tried to keep himself calm.  _ Some days are harder than others, _ whispered the voice in his head.  _ Not weak. Not weak. You’re not weak. It’s not your fault.   _

_      My fault my fault my fault,  _ screamed the other voice in his mind, the one that sounded suspiciously like his own. 

     “Hey, Boss,” Kiran greeted him as he stepped into the cafe. The kid flicked sandy hair from his forehead, smiling. “A little late.”

     It was Kiran’s thing to speak in fragments. Harry knew this. He put on a small smile and shrugged. “Better me than you,” he shot back, looking around the desolate shop. “Where is everyone?”

     “Three on a Monday,” Kiran replied, tapping fingers on the counter. Harry couldn’t help but note they were painted bright blue. He didn’t listen as Kiran continued talking. He only looked at his tapping fingers, the chipped varnish lightly tugging at the corner of his lip. 

_      Bright blue nails tapped against the back of his hand. Black hair spilled over his shoulder, down the chest of his shirt. Warm lips pressed against his shoulder. Brown eyes looked at him, but there was something weird about them. Something was missing. There was something wrong. What could be wrong? They were happy, weren’t- _

     “Boss. You okay?” Those bright blue nails moved, fingers snapped in front of Harry’s nose. Kiran’s face swam in front of him. 

     “Sorry. Yeah. Can you make me a coffee?” 

     “Got it.” 

     Harry nodded once, looking down at the ground. He shifted his foot a little, watching the movement with disconnected thoughts. That wasn’t his foot moving. But it was. 

     “Extra sugar,” Kiran said, setting a mug down in front of Harry with a clink. He stirred it as he pushed the handle toward Harry. 

     “Thanks,” Harry mumbled, picking up the mug and downing a fourth of it in one drink. It was scalding hot and he could barely taste it, but he didn’t care. It was something to keep him awake. “Help me stock.” 

             ---

     Harry floated his way through the day. 

     He took orders, sent them back, and delivered them. He went through inventory for an hour. He restocked the back room. He talked to customers, to employees. 

     It was all a haze. A coffee scented, people marked, brick colored haze that never ended. 

     Until it did. 

     He sat down at a still dirty table as Orion left for the night, smiling a little and lifting his hand in goodbye. He needed to finish restocking and double check the inventory. He needed to get paychecks in order as well. There was a lot left to do, and it was already almost ten. 

_      Good for me, _ he thought, scoffing.  _ Keep busy.  _

_      Good for you, _ the voice that sounded suspiciously like him imitated.  _ Busy worker Potter. Maybe you should have been a Hufflepuff.  _

_      I could have been. _

_      Oh. Witty. Maybe you should have been Ravenclaw. _

_      My fault my fault my fault my fault myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaumyfaumyfaul- _

     Harry jumped to his feet, picking up the saucers on the table and balancing the coffee mugs on them. He turned-

_      Crash. _

     “Bloody-”

     “I’m s-”

_      Crash.  _

     “Bloody-”

     “I’m s-”

_      Crash. _

     Harry’s hands were empty. The saucers crashed to the floor last, shattering against the wood. He jumped and-

_      red hair blood explosion stone smoke dust scream cold grief red hair blood explosion stone smoke dust scream cold grief red hair blood explosionstonesmokedustscreamcoldgrief  _

     “Potter?” 

     Harry’s breath came back to him in a flood. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was staring at someone familiar, who was it? It wasn’t Ron. Not Hermione. Not Ginny, George, Luna. Grey eyes. Harry racked his brain for someone with-

     “Malfoy?” 

     Draco Malfoy scoffed at his incredulous tone. An amused smirk split across the disdain on his features. Harry couldn’t believe this. “Why are you here? Where is everyone else?”

     Frowning, Harry looked around. He’d forgotten. Something about…  _ Aha. _ “I own the shop. Why are you here? We’re closed.” 

     It was Malfoy’s turn to frown. “It’s not ten yet. And what do you mean, you own this place? That’s impossible.”

     “If you’d like proof, I can bring out the documents,” Harry mumbled, then cast a look down at the mess on the floor. At least it was china instead of bile. 

     A wand tip pointed at the mess of shards on the ground. “ _ Reparo, _ ” intoned a soft whisper, and the saucers and cups were whole again. “ _ Scourgify. _ ” And the liquid and grounds on the floor were gone. 

     “Thanks,” Harry mumbled, blinking at the floor. He took a second to compose himself, then crouched down and picked up the cups. “Since you pointed out it’s not ten yet and I’m the only one here…” 

     Malfoy followed him as he walked toward the counter. “I suppose you’re implying I order?” 

     “That would be ideal.” 

     “Earl Grey,” Malfoy said after a few moments in which Harry put dishes into the sink and flicked his wand so they started washing themselves, sent a quick  _ Scourgify _ around the shop, and stared at him expectantly. “For  _ here _ ,” he added after Harry started to pick up a paper cup. 

     “Have a seat, Malfoy. I’ll have it to you in just a moment.” 

     “The famous Harry Potter, Dark Lord Vanquisher, Golden Boy,” Malfoy mused aloud, wandering his way to a table near the front window of the shop, “serving me. This is like a dream.” 

     “More of a nightmare,” Harry mumbled to himself, setting about brewing tea. He raised his voice so the blond git would hear him. “It’ll be a bit. We weren’t expecting more customers.” 

     “That’s fine.” 

    “ _ That’s fine, _ ” Harry imitated childishly, staring down at the teapot in front of him. “Bloody Draco Malfoy is in my bloody cafe. Probably plotting my death. He’s got to be, hasn’t he?” 

     He snuck a look behind him, at the man in question. The git was tapping his fingers on the table, looking out the dark window. His reflection was showing his face back into the shop, and there was a warmth there Harry hadn’t been expecting. Like Malfoy was familiar with the cafe, like it was a home away from home. 

_      Merlin, this is so surreal. _

     Shaking his head, he turned around. He had work to do. No reason to let Draco Malfoy distract him from that work. 

     Right?

     Wrong. 

     Draco Malfoy was plenty distracting. 

     About three minutes before the tea was done, Malfoy pulled out a sketchbook and a Muggle pencil and started to draw. Harry kept finding his eyes drawn to the movement out of curiosity. And every time he caught himself, he shook his head firmly and directed his gaze down at the sheet in front of him as he counted out hours and pay. 

     But his eyes kept moving up to that white blond hair and how it fell over the bridge of Malfoy’s nose. He swallowed hard when Malfoy blew it out of his face, found that to be futile, and pushed it back with the eraser of the pencil. 

     Why did he just swallow hard? His eyes darted back to the paper in front of him, but the letters were swimming. 

     The timer Harry had set for the tea went off and he blinked up at the pot, scrambled to his feet (knocking over the stool he’d been sitting on in the process), and poured the tea carefully into two separate teacups. He carefully picked one up, stepped over the stool, and made his way to Malfoy with heat crawling up his neck. 

_      I wasn’t staring. I wasn’t staring. I wasn’t staring. Don’t ask if I was staring. Don’t look at me like I was staring.  _

     He wasn’t staring. 

     “Earl Grey,” Harry said quietly, awkwardly holding the cup and saucer as Malfoy moved his sketchbook to the side for Harry to set the tea on the table. “Do you need sugar? Milk?” 

     “Sugar, please,” Malfoy mumbled distractedly, his eyes on his sketch again. Harry could barely make out an empty chair in the lines on the page. 

     “Please? From a Malfoy?” Harry scoffed lightly, turning to collect the sugar anyway. He kept his eyes on Malfoy as he spooned a heap into his own tea cup, then carried the small bowl to him. Again, his mind was on the  _ not staring  _ tangent. Because he wasn’t staring. Not at all. 

     “We are known to be polite occasionally,” was the response, and it only came after Harry set down the sugar. 

     “I wasn’t staring.” 

_      Fuck. _

    Malfoy looked up finally, arching one eyebrow at his observer. Those stupid grey eyes sparkled with amusement. Stupid lips split to quip some kind of reply to Harry, but he didn’t hear it. He was too busy cursing himself a million times over and faintly realizing he was staring  _ again _ . 

     Harry turned away quickly, shoulders hunched, and hurried back to the counter. He put his stool upright again, placed his tea in front of himself, and set to work, purposefully ignoring the scratching of a pencil across the cafe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, the next chapter will not be as dark as this one. 
> 
> Also, feel free to point out any inconsistencies! It's been a while since I read the books again, so I'm running almost entirely off memory and interpretation.


	3. Remember

    Harry woke with a dead arm. The person laying on said arm snored lightly, her mousy brown hair cascading over the white pillow. He sighed and blinked sleepily, looking over at her in slight confusion. Then he looked at the ceiling. Then back to her. 

   He pulled his arm out from under her head slowly, easing her back onto the pillow. She stirred just slightly, just enough to make him freeze before shaking his head and sliding out from under the covers. Even if he did wake her, it wouldn’t be any skin off his back. She’d just have to leave. 

    He jumped in the shower, and as he scrubbed shampoo into his hair he found his thoughts wandering. 

   Draco Malfoy had been in his shop last night. Draco Malfoy had enjoyed tea brewed by Harry, doodled while Harry worked, and they’d sat in an almost comfortable silence. They’d been consumed by what they were doing separately, so consumed they hadn’t bothered with arguing. 

    What a… Harry frowned. Was it a feat? Was it something from a horror film? Was it just something other, something different and strange and new? 

_ Probably that last one, _ stated his mind.  _ That’s safest. Though, it is kind of a feat. A miracle of sorts.  _

    When he stepped out of the shower and turned to the mirror above the sink, he sighed. It certainly was  _ something _ , he had to admit that. And it probably would never happen again, and he was fine with it. Kind of fine with it. He swiped a hand across the mirror to sweep steam out of his way, and was met with something he hadn’t seen in months. 

    A smile. He was thinking about Draco Malfoy and  _ smiling. _ Now that was something relatively new. 

    It looked foreign. 

    He didn’t like it.

    Harry pulled the mirror open and pulled out his toothbrush and toothpaste, finding solace in that bite of cinnamon. It brought his mind back to the moment, to the sound of breathing in the other room and the steam disappearing around him. He watched the fog fade from the mirror’s surface, tightening the towel around his hips as he did. 

    “Good morning,” a soft voice said from the doorway, and Harry turned his head to see Janie standing there, unclothed and smiling. “Already cleaned up, I see.” 

    “Morning,” he mumbled around the toothbrush, leaning over to spit into the sink. He rinsed the toothbrush off, eyes on the water as hands slid around his stomach and a warm, pliant body pressed against his back. “Did you sleep well?”

    “Very,” was whispered into his shoulder. A wet kiss was pressed against his shoulder blade. “Think you have time for another…?”

    Harry looked up at the mirror as he closed it, running his tongue across his lower lip. Janie chased a droplet of water across his shoulder, her eyes on his in the mirror. He felt arousal burning in his gut. “I suppose.” 

\---

    Harry crumpled the piece of paper in his hand and tucked it into his pocket as he watched Janie walk off down the street, turning to duck into the alley beside his building and apparate to work. Why did they keep giving him their numbers? It was useless. 

    At work, he was stuck behind the counter. He’d known this beforehand, but it still lifted his mood a little. The entire reason he’d opened the cafe was to get away from the daily chaos that came hand in hand with being an Auror or Healer. He liked to keep busy, and he wanted to help people, but he didn’t want to do so in an environment he wasn’t in charge of. He’d had far too many of those environments in his life, and he didn’t need one more. 

    He’d been behind the counter for a few hours before it happened. 

    “What can I get you?” he asked the customer in front of him without looking up. He pushed a plastic lid into place on a paper cup. 

    “Earl Grey tea,” replied the voice that had been drifting through Harry’s head all morning. 

    Harry paused, glancing up through his eyelashes at Draco Malfoy. He was back. Just over twelve hours later, he was back. Two times in just as many days. The universe just loved to fuck with him. 

    “Got it,” he mumbled. “It’ll be up in a few minutes. Sugar? To-go?”

    “I’ll take care of that. For here.” 

    Harry told him how much it would cost, took the money, and set to assembling the next drink he’d had down. He let his eyes wander a little as he did, absently searching for a blond head of hair in the mid-afternoon rush. His hands worked on their own, assembling drinks and cups from just a short glance at the ticket, going in order down the list. Coffee, poured over sugar, two pumps vanilla, to-go. Smoothie, strawberry, whipped cream on top, to-go. Earl Grey tea, nothing in it, for here. 

    Harry handed the teacup and saucer to Amelia, watching her weave through the tables to the far corner. He craned his neck over the crowd, finding she was heading straight for a blond git,  _ the  _ blond git, and he smirked a little. He hadn’t even told her what Draco looked like. She must have seen him and heard him ordering. There was no other explanation. 

    Unless… 

    No. 

    Harry shook his head and went back to working. It was a silly notion. Malfoy couldn’t be a regular at the shop. 

     ---

    Hours. He’d been on his feet, making coffee and calling out orders for  _ hours _ and he was bloody exhausted. The soles of his feet burned. He didn’t have the energy to go searching for another nightly companion tonight. 

    “Nightmares it is,” he mumbled to himself, stalking up the stairs to his flat. He pushed open the door and-

    -almost fell back down the stairs. Small hands clutched at his pant leg and quick reflexes were the only things that saved him in that moment. Instinctively, he reached down and scooped up the assaulter. His lips smoothed into a smile when he saw a bit of wild colored hair. 

    “Teddy,” he greeted happily, his day transformed. 

    “Oh, Harry! You’re home!” Hermione said, appearing from the kitchen. 

    “ _ My _ home, yes,” Harry teased, lifting an eyebrow at her even as Teddy started to chatter. “What’s going on here?” 

    “Aunt ‘Mione thinks I should spend some time with you,” Teddy stated, looking at Harry with wide, excited eyes. Harry met his eyes with inquisitive ones, his eyebrows furrowing. At this, Teddy started to pout. “I really, really want to!”

    Harry sighed a little and turned back to Hermione. She was smiling, but it was small and a little pained. It screamed  _ Just hear me out _ , which meant it screamed Hermione. He rolled his eyes and set Teddy back down on the floor again. “Remember where the your room is?” he asked, crouching in front of the eight year old. Teddy nodded eagerly, his hair changing colors from red to green gradually. “Go play for a bit in there. I need to talk with Aunt ‘Mione. Sound good?”

    Again, Teddy nodded eagerly. He hugged Harry one more time, planted a sloppy kiss on Harry’s cheek, and took off running to the small room Harry had specifically for when Teddy stayed over. 

    Harry turned his eyes up to Hermione, who was staring at him expectantly now. “You taught him to  _ kiss _ people on the cheek, didn’t you?” 

    “Only those he likes and sees often,” she defended, smiling genuinely now. “And it wasn’t just me. Molly insists he kiss her cheek every time he’s over.” 

    “Molly does that with everyone,” Harry shot back, standing up again. He pushed a hand through his hair, frowned when it got stuck and pulled the tie out, and shrugged a little. “Is it too much to hope you’ve brought some kind of food with you?” 

    “You know I never come ‘round you without something.” 

    “Merlin  _ bless _ you, ‘Mione,” Harry sighed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he tugged her into the kitchen with him. There were take out boxes sitting on the table. The smell alone made Harry’s stomach threaten to devour itself. He picked up a cold spring roll and bit off half of it in one go. When he spoke, he did so around the mouthful of food. “So, what’s the deal this time?” 

   “Ron’s on a mission,” Hermione explained, not bothering to sugar coat it. She made a face as Harry popped the rest of the spring roll in his mouth without swallowing the first bite yet. “I’ve got business in India for a few days, maybe even weeks. Merlin knows how long the mission will take… Honestly, Harry! That’s so disgusting!”

    Harry laughed around the large bite of rice he’d just picked out of the container with his fingers and shoveled into his mouth. He swallowed first, then pointed at her. “Silverware is too time consuming. I just worked a six hour shift on my feet; I deserve this rice and I deserve to eat with it my hands.” She rolled her eyes, but looked at him in slight concern. Her mouth opened, but Harry beat her to it. “Why not leave Teddy with the Weasleys?” 

    “Molly and Arthur have him too much, Harry. They’ve got him every Saturday night, and during the day most week days. I’d like to take some of the burden off them.” 

    “Andromeda?” 

    “She has him every day the Weasleys can’t take him.” 

    Harry frowned. He really was the only one left to take Teddy for the time being, unless Neville wanted to keep him…  _ Not a good idea, _ he thought.  _ Unless I’d like Teddy to come back covered in stinksap or without a finger… Speaking of…  _ He pinched a clump of rice between his fingers and popped it in his mouth, staring down at the box as he thought it over. 

    “Okay,” he sighed after a few moments. “I’ll take care of him.” 

    “Oh, thank you, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, her hands clapping together. She pushed them toward him in a joking bow and prayer. “You’re the greatest. You deserve to be worshipped.” 

    Harry laughed, shoving her hands with his foot. “Been there, done that, and you know it.” 

    She laughed with him, falling into a chair at the table. Harry dug through the drawers for a fork, then sat down with her and dug into the box of rice properly, adding soy sauce before he did. They sat in silence for a bit, then Hermione spoke up. Harry indulged her, listening to her speaking about how the Ministry’s Relations Department needed her to go to India to check with their government, make a compromise about something-or-other, something Harry didn’t understand. He’d long since learned to listen as Hermione spoke, maybe not attentively but enough he knew where to nod or ask a question. 

    Around an hour later, Hermione looked down at her watch, frowned, and stood. “I should probably get going…” 

   “You sure you don’t want to stay here tonight?” Harry asked, looking up at her. “We could watch a movie, something-”

    “I- uh-” she swallowed thickly, biting her cheek. “Maybe. Ron already left…” 

    Harry knew the look in her eyes. It was one he’d encountered often himself. It looked like terror and resignation combined. He smiled a little at her. “C’mon, ‘Mione,” he whinged, more for her sake than his. “Stay over. Have a few drinks with me, watch a movie. We can watch something Teddy likes first, wait for him to fall asleep, watch The Shining or something.” 

    “The Shining? This late at night?” 

    “Why not?” 

    She opened her mouth to argue his point, but he smiled more at her and she caught on. It was a joke. Her mouth snapped closed, teeth clicking together, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she mumbled, but her spreading smile gave her away. “But I get the bed.” 

    “Deal. Sofa is more comfortable half the time anyway.” 

     ---

    “Teddy,” Harry groaned, tilting his head back against the sofa cushion behind him. “This is the fifth time we’ve watched Finding Nemo-” 

    “Your fault you bought the DVD,” Hermione added unasked, and Harry glared up at her. “What? It’s true.” 

    He groaned again, this time wordlessly, and hit play on the remote. Teddy clambered onto the sofa behind Harry’s head, his feet burying themselves in Harry’s hair. 

    Harry made it halfway through the movie before mumbling something about needing a drink. He looked at Hermione meaningfully, watched her nod, and nodded back once. He pushed himself off the floor slowly, tickling Teddy’s feet so he’d move them. The feet lifted from his shoulder and his head. As Teddy laughed, Harry passed by and ruffled the again bright orange hair. 

   In the kitchen, Harry paused and glanced around for a moment before setting to work making hot chocolate for the three of them. Teddy had his father’s sweet tooth and Harry was highly aware of that. He never let a day go by with Teddy where he didn’t give him some form of chocolate, and he was pretty positive Teddy knew that too. 

    A few too many extra marshmallows went into Teddy’s mug. Harry watched as they melted a bit, then poured a bit of vanilla vodka he’d kept from the last New Year’s party he’d held into the remaining two mugs. He dropped a marshmallows into them as well, and floated the two alcoholic drinks carefully into the living room, carrying Teddy’s. 

   Hermione caught hers out of the air, sniffed it, looked up at Harry in suspicion, and took a sip. Harry handed Teddy his, caught his own mug, and warned him not to take a sip yet. He placed his mug on the floor as he sat again. Gently, he tapped the tip of his wand to Teddy’s mug, careful to avoid the small hands gripping it tightly, and ran his wand down the length of the mug. “There you go,” he mumbled, winking at Teddy. 

    “What did you do to it?” Teddy inquired, looking at the cup curiously. He examined the drink inside, checking to make sure it hadn’t changed or anything. “Nothing is different.” 

    “It’ll stay the perfect temperature for you,” Harry explained. “It won’t get too cool, and it won’t be too hot to drink.” 

    Teddy looked up at Harry with wide eyes, then broke into a grin that dimpled his cheeks and wrinkled his nose.  _ Man, _ the kid was cute. “You should teach Aunt ‘Mione that.” 

    Harry glanced at Hermione and chuckled at the thoughtful frown on her face. “Maybe I should. She may torture it out of me.” 

    “You should. She always complains about how her drinks in the morning are cold.” 

    “Does she?” 

    Teddy just nodded solemnly, then looked at Hermione. “Don’t you?” 

    Hermione pursed her lips. That was all the answer both boys needed. 

     ---

    Later that night, after moving a sleepy Teddy into his room, Harry was collapsed on floor next to the sofa. Hermione’s hand reached down and tapped at his forehead, getting his attention. 

    He sat up on his elbows, frowning at the shot glass that slid off his chest and onto the carpet. “What?” 

    “Do you remember in school,” Hermione started thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling like it was the most interesting book she’d ever read, “when McGonagall institat- in-sti-tut-ed the interhouse dinners?”

    “Yeah,” Harry grumbled, falling back onto his back on the floor. He looked at Hermione’s hand, smoothing the lines of her palm out. His thumbs ran gently over the callouses she’d collected from writing over the years. 

    “What day were they on again?”

    “Saturdays,” said Harry after a moment. “Saturday night. Why she did them on the weekend, I don’t know. Rubbish idea, if you ask me.” 

    Hermione’s voice shook with held back laughter as she spoke, continuing to talk about the people she’d sat with at the dinners. 

    Harry just stared at her hand, the dark palm of it, the lines intersecting and breaking and chaining themselves along her skin. Faintly, he traced his thumb across her life line, watching it curve around the base of her thumb. He’d done this before, but it had been different. A lighter palm. A more intimate touch. A palm reading, done in the bliss of a bed, grey eyes on his-

    “Harry?” Hermione asked after a bit, and Harry turned his head to look at her, torn away from his thoughts. “Knut for your thoughts.” 

    “Draco Malfoy has been coming to my shop,” he stated without thinking, then cursed himself in his mind. Damn alcohol. Hermione stayed silent, and Harry took that as an invitation to continue. “I think he’s been coming for a while. Amelia knew him and his order without me explaining he looked like a git. Why would he…? We stopped… I don’t…” 

    “Harry,” Hermione mumbled, looking down at him over the sofa cushions. “Were you and Malfoy a… a thing? Was that more than a rumor?” 

    He stayed silent. He didn’t want to answer that. 

    It wasn’t until an hour or two later, when they’d both started to doze off, that he answered her. 

    He stared at her as she slept on the bed, the bed he’d just carried her to, standing and swaying a little on his feet as he did. He blinked once, slowly, his mind a fog of black and white and green and silver and pink. 

   “I loved him,” he mumbled, turning to leave the room. His hand lifted to his face, rubbing his stubble covered cheek. “Yeah. More than a rumor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one! It took a bit longer, as I hit a bit of a slump towards the middle of the chapter. Also, look forward to a few flashbacks (maybe) coming up, maybe just a few conversations between the two! 
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave comments on the story, things you'd like to see, or any questions! Thank you for reading!!!


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